


Strawberry Blonde

by MasterFinland



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Children, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hetalia Countries Using Human Names, Kids, Marriage Proposal, Mild Angst, Pregnancy, Romanticism, hghghfgfjh, we really be back on our bullshit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-16 00:27:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21498841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MasterFinland/pseuds/MasterFinland
Summary: And, God, he loved her, and there was no reason for him to be afraid of something as simple as a ring but he was, and he hated it, because commitment was terrifying, and it always had been. He wanted to make her happy, wanted to help her complete the one thing she’d been reading about since she was young and had never let go of. He worried, sometimes, when she stared at him while she pretended to read, that his fear of destruction, of failure, was tearing them apart.
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia), America/Female England (Hetalia)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 27





	Strawberry Blonde

**Author's Note:**

> Nhhhgjhgjkg I’m back on my bullshit

Alfred knew that she wanted a ring, wanted a wedding. 

He could see it in the way her shoulders would sag when he gave her dangling jewelry that clinked against her wrist, neck, chest, when she moved, and the way she wore the silver earrings and gold necklaces like they meant more than they did; he could see it in the way she would stare longingly at the sparkling bands on their friends’ fingers while she bounced a soft, round baby in her lap. He could see it the most, though, in the way she stared at  _ him _ , at their  _ children,  _ with a clear yearning in her bones and an expression he didn’t completely understand, and wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to. 

But he also knew that she wouldn’t ask him for a new weight on her left hand, no matter how simple the adornments. She wouldn’t ask him for a ceremony where she could finally, finally walk down a carpeted aisle, wearing the dress of her dreams that she’d had tucked in the attic since the fifties.

_ (Not after last time, not after what he’d done. She’d urged and urged and urged, hinting for weeks, months,  _ years,  _ until he’d caved and bought her a diamond fit for a queen, and exploded one night in their bedroom after a weekend of arguments over something so stupid he couldn’t even remember what it was. He’d taken the ring and thrown it into the wall so hard that it had bent, the gem shattered so finely that some pieces still glinted between floorboards when the moon hit just right. He’d never seen her make that face before, and never wanted to again _ _.) _

But she would yearn, she would ache, for it silently, with sad, tired eyes and tender hands trembling against his jaw. She would sigh to herself while she embroidered, a toddler napping in her lap. She would cry in the tub, hunched over her own knees, when the rest of the world was asleep, unaware that Alfred could hear her from the bed, and that his heart hurt just as bad as hers did. She said it was fine, that she didn’t need a certificate of a construct created by humans to make their meager lives have a little more meaning to be certain that he loved her. But Alfred knew that she definitely would have liked to see the reminder when she woke up, bleary-eyed and messy-headed, that they were locked together in yet another way. 

And it wasn’t like he didn’t love her, because he did, he loved her more than anything. But he just wasn’t sure he was marriage material. Just the idea of it made him feel caged in his own chest - good or bad, he didn’t quite know, and that scared him all the more - his lungs constricting and his stomach twisting into knots. He knew for sure that he wanted to spend his life with her, with their children, because he’d never had eyes for anyone else -  _ it has always been her, even when he was an awkward, lanky teenager with a crush that made his head spin, despite the growing desire for respect so strong that it led to a revolution _ \- but marriage was so  _ binding,  _ in a way that kids and immortality just  _ weren’t _ . 

Alice wanted a wedding, a ceremony fit for a fairytale, because she was a romantic at heart. She read books beneath blooming trees while wind rustled the grass around her and tangled the ends of her pigtails. She danced barefoot with him in the family room at half-past midnight, the lamp light low and warm, the music from the old record player faint and fuzzy, until their feet ached and their faces burned from the size of their matching grins. She cooked dinner every night even though she wasn’t all that good at it, a cup of tea with a perpetual lipstick stain on the rim next to the stirring spoon. She kissed him when he came home and wore dresses with tights because she liked it. She brought in wounded birds from the forest behind the manor and nursed them until they healed, teaching the little ones how to be gentle all the while because everything was a learning experience. She sat in the nook in her study with one of the cats curled in her lap, stroking his fur while she filled out paperwork for hours at a time, humming tunes that definitely didn’t belong to anything other than her own mind. She ate toast with peach jam almost exclusively, not necessarily because she liked the flavor best but because the colors made her happy when put together in such a way. She sang in the shower, loud and unrestrained, only to curl up beside him under handmade quilts with an old book, damp hair already curling at the ends and making his shoulder itch when she moved. She painted her ring fingers last, because it was easier for her to work inward from both ends. She only used the top left burner when making tea, and had for as long as he could remember. Her hair sometimes glowed a soft red in the sunlight, and bled into a sweet, strawberry blonde when the sky turned pink behind her. She was ticklish, and always jolted when Alfred brushed his fingers against her waist, smiling so, so wonderfully and leaning into the touch once she realized it was him. Her voice, normally smooth and silky and oh so elegant, became shrill and scratchy when she laughed too hard, similar to the way her nose, decorated with freckles, scrunched when she said something mean but didn’t mean it seriously. She held onto the sentiment of old doors and baby clothes, because to her everything had a memory, a story, a meaning that couldn’t be ignored or forgotten. She pressed flowers in old books and left them there to find later, because she was scatterbrained and forgetful and she loved the surprise. She moved worms off the sidewalk, and cared more about her garden than whether or not the dishes were done. She purposefully breathed through her mouth when it was cold enough to see her breath, because she liked the way particles crystallized into fog before her very eyes. 

And,  _ God,  _ he loved her, and there was no reason for him to be afraid of something as simple as a ring but he  _ was,  _ and he  _ hated  _ it, because commitment was terrifying, and it always had been. He wanted to make her happy, wanted to help her complete the one thing she’d been reading about since she was young and had never let go of. He worried, sometimes, when she stared at him while she pretended to read, that his fear of destruction, of failure, was tearing them apart.

The ring, a gold band with chocolate stones and diamonds this time, was heavy in his pocket, safe inside its little red box. His first proposal, some thirty years before, had been big, romantic, everything he knew she’d wanted because he saw the way her eyes sparkled when she watched certain movies, but this one was going to be different. Today Alfred was in jeans, not a tux. They weren’t in a fancy restaurant that would easily put him out two hundred bucks; instead, they were in the dining room, the kids chattering and yelling good-naturedly, Alice smiling wide and laughing along to Avery’s irritated recount of his day at school, Tobias cackling beside her. 

They were having spaghetti tonight, but Emily didn’t like sauce, so her noodles were buttered and yellow and absolutely swimming in her bowl. Alfred put his fork down and wiped his mouth.

“Alice.”

She looked up, plucked brow raised in question, a spoon of mashed yams almost to Luka’s waiting mouth. “Hm? What is it, love?” She softened, allowing the whining infant to take another bite of his food without looking away from Alfred. “Yes, yes,here you are.” The ten-month-old squealed excitedly; he loved yams, peas, and bananas the best. 

Alfred’s shoulders relaxed involuntarily, relieved and so, so in love with his family. Luka’s hands were stained red with meat sauce, splatters of marinara in the shape of fists on the white, plastic table of his high hair. The ends of Emily’s pigtails were wet from where she’d been so eager to eat that she’d dunked her hair into the mess of butter and garlic at the bottom of her bowl. Agnes, now almost four, was trying to climb into her mother’s lap, jealous of the attention Alice was giving the baby, a pout on her lips, but was failing miserably, because Alice’s bump was already taking up half of the space, and Agnes just couldn’t fit. Tobias and Avery, newly fifteen, sitting beside each other across from him, were elbowing and shoving at each other, play-fighting instead of eating, Amelia egging one, if not both, of them on because she could. 

Alfred swiped his youngest daughter into his lap, pressing a kiss to the top of her head at the indignant noise she gave him at having her ‘quest’ interrupted. He turned his attention back to Alice, who gave him a grateful smile, a fond and exasperated look on her pale face.

“Let’s get married.” 

Amelia choked on her food behind him, coughing harshly and dramatically beating at her chest. Either Avery or Tobias, he wasn’t sure who, dropped his fork against his plate with a gasp, the reverberation harsh and grating on his ears. 

Alfred kept his eyes locked onto Alice’s, beginning to bounce his leg to distract Agnes, who was becoming increasingly impatient the longer Alfred held onto her. Alice’s face was steadily reddening, her grip on the rubber utensil going somewhat slack before tightening again. 

“W-What?” She squeaked, voice cracking the way it did when she laughed just a little too hard, or sang just a little too loud. She cleared her throat into her sweater, embarrassed and startled. She handed Luka his spoon and turned to face Alfred fully. “Alfred-”

“I want to marry you, Alice.” Alfred ignored his oldest daughter’s chants of  _ holy shit, holy shit, holy shit  _ behind him, and leaned forward, mindful of his daughter. He took Alice’s thin hands, now shaking, into his own. “I have a ring in my pocket-“

“N-No, I-“ Alice hiccuped, then, tears in her eyes. Her lower lip wobbled, and she bit down on it harshly. Alfred grinned at her, his own eyes somewhat damp. “I heard y-you, love, I j-just-“ She took a deep breath, sniffling. “You really want t-to get married? A-Are- fuck- are you sure?” 

Alfred laughed, that constricting feeling in his chest identifying itself as giddiness. He had forgotten what a crush felt like, but he realized, now, that the knots in his belly were really just butterflies, and the constriction of his lungs was happening because his heart was beating too fast for him to breathe right. 

“Fuck yeah, baby. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

Alice sobbed, and Alfred pulled her into a kiss, both of them smiling so large that the kiss wasn’t really even a kiss. When they broke apart Alfred cupped the back of her head to bring their foreheads together, his own emotions overtaking him as tears dripped off of his honey lashes. Alice took his stubbly jaw in her hands, sob-laughing and pressing their noses together. 

“Then yes, Alfred, I absolutely will marry you.”

The world outside of the eight of them ceased to exist, and Alfred wondered what the hell it was, exactly, that he’d been so afraid of.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Once again, this fic does NOT straightwash these characters or anything, I just adore fem England and I love writing about babies, and if I have one I can have the other ;)
> 
> If anybody has anything they want to see me write, let me know! I’ll happily share my ships with you and I’m always looking for ideas, especially having to do with kids/families!
> 
> [The kids in order, and their ages (appearance, not actual) in this fic:
> 
> Amelia Rose —> roughly 17/18  
> Tobias Foster and Avery Christopher —> 15  
> Emily Elizabeth —> roughly 8/9  
> Agnes Jane —> 4  
> Luka Elliot —> around 10 months  
> Winfred Bailey —> unborn; he’s got about 3-4 months to go lol]


End file.
